


The Wind That Breaks the Heart

by artbyjaelle



Category: Heartland (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29691063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artbyjaelle/pseuds/artbyjaelle
Summary: There are moments for which no words can be spoken. *Set immediately after "Broken Arrow", Ep. 3X40* Originally published under penname of kuruni over at FF.net on December 7th, 2009. Reposting here under preferred penname.
Kudos: 1





	The Wind That Breaks the Heart

There are moments for which no words can be spoken.

The wind whips across the tarmac and forces its way into you. Soothing, ice-cold, a balm to the wound that burns within. An ache caused by the man who, even now, watches you surreptitiously from the office.

Three words, a sentence, and your world has been changed. Words jumble around in your brain, a confusing mix of images and patterns. _We've. Lost. Contact._

Stumble back to the truck. Drop the keys. Find them. Unlock the door, get in, shut it behind you. Firm, a sound that divides the world outside and the world within. The pain sears in your chest, and you block it out. _Don't think about it._

Buckle up. Start the engine. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. You can do this. 

The drive home slows to a crawl, the trees whizzing past you slowly. You notice details you've never noticed before. The world is almost colourless, and so, so bright. You turn the corner and see the lights of home waiting for you. 

The horse stands at the top of the hill underneath the tree. As you inch by he kicks up his heels, as if he senses the truth, and runs away from you. He flies in the wind, and you slow to watch the ripple of muscle underneath his glossy coat. Your breath hitches as he finally stops, at the furthest corner of the field, his escape barred by the fence you built. You wish now that there were no fences to stop him. You wish you could run away, too. 

There is no outrunning this.

There is no escaping it.

They have to know. 

Park the truck and stop it, let the dust settle. Slide your hands off the wheel and unbuckle your seat belt. Sit quietly. Wait for someone to come and rescue you. A hoarse breathing fills the truck's cabin, and you realize that you're starting to hyperventilate, but you don't care, because nothing is the same anymore.

You see him step outside, a hand cupping his cell to his ear. It's probably a work call, and you wonder if he would be offended if you took the phone and shoved it down his throat. _Poor guy,_ you think. One minute everything's hunky-dory, and the next minute it blows apart. 

He sees you sitting there, and studies you for a moment as he talks. Whatever the urgent problem, is, he finishes it soon enough, and slips the phone into his pocket. He looks back towards the house before stepping off the porch. 

_No._ You think wildly at him, the heart beating so loudly you can hear it. _I don't want it to be you._

He isn't family. He doesn't know you well enough. He isn't here for you.

He's Lou's. And he's still here.

The slow walk off the porch turns into a trot which turns into a run, until he jogs up to your window and yanks the door open. You ignore him, staring dully ahead, while you try to figure out how to speak the words for the unspeakable thing. 

Is it better to break things slowly?

Or would a flood of words be better? 

What is the easiest way to break someone's heart? 

“Amy?” He sounds so concerned, so far away. He is very careful, you notice, not to touch you. “Amy... are you...okay? You look pretty terrible.”

Of course you look terrible. Your jaw tightens, you swallow. The words stick in your throat.

A swift shake of your head, birdlike. Your lips tingle. 

“Do you want me to get Lou?”

You close your eyes. When you open them, you see he's already dialing. You hear the house phone ringing in the distance. You hear it connect.  
_  
“Peter? Why are you calling? You could just come back inside.”_ Lou sounds so tiny, amused, intimate. You're not used to hearing her sound like that. 

You hear him say, “Lou, I need you to come outside. I need your help with something.” Unlike Lou, Peter is firm. Businesslike. Cold.

You see her head appear in the window. Then there is a click, and the empty dial tone tickles your ears before he folds his phone back up. The door bursts open, and she runs out, her hair flying. He moves out of the way so she can approach you. 

“Amy?” Holds her hands up, like you're a wild animal that needs to be calmed. “Amy.” Her voice is so, so careful that it forces you to turn your had to look at her. She is pale, worry written in every crease and line of her face, “Amy. What happened?”

You move your lips but you can't speak the words. There are no words. There is that breathing noise again, like a dying animal, and Lou's hand fists before you realize that it's you.  
_  
They're gone. He's gone. They're lost. The plane is lost._ The words reverberate in the silence of the air. A gasp catches your attention, Lou's hand flying to cover her mouth. Then you realize that you have said what can not be said. Your hands make grasping motions, and you realize you need to hold him. You need to hold something, so you pitch yourself out of the truck and land hard, hard, on your knees on the ground. Lou kneels and grabs you, pulling you into a suffocating embrace. Someone is making a keening noise. 

Vaguely you hear Peter saying something about shock and doctors but there's no reason to phone for help because no help can come. Nothing to be done. 

You push against her, and she lets you go. “Where is he?” You ask the question, grief burning a hold into the world. _“Where is he?”_

There is no answer, and in your heart, you know there won't ever be.

* * * _  
No harm ever touched them once they cut loose,  
snorting at flurries falling again.  
How little our chances for feeling ourselves.  
They vanished so quickly – one flick of a tail.  
Where do their mountains and moments begin?  
I stood a long time in sharpening wind. _  
~ from the poem “Horses in Snow” by Roberta Hill Whiteman ~


End file.
